


are you sad because you're on your own?

by logicalspecs



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, a very exaggerated version of reality, angst all around, but guess what, everyone gets hurt oops, five times one time template, george protects his friends, it doesnt go very far tho, some non-con, takes place in the early beatles days, warnings will be repeated at the beginning of the chapters so you can skip it if you want :), yeah thats right we got fluff :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-12-25 16:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18265550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/logicalspecs/pseuds/logicalspecs
Summary: Five times the youngest Beatle protected his friends, and the one time they protected him.i. ringoii. pauliii. paul pt. 2iv. johnv. john, paul, and ringo+ i. george





	1. ringo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the first part :) hope y'all enjoy
> 
> as always, these events did not actually take place, though the idea for this chapter was inspired by a real life story, in which george took a punch for ringo
> 
> warnings: mild descriptions of violence, mention of blood

“We want Pete!”

“Bring back Best!”

“Pete in, Ringo out!”

He can still hear the cruel words being spat over the sound of his guitar, and he can't help but wince. It's been getting better as the days roll by, but the hecklers never fail to share their opinions on their new drummer. The few days after they revealed that Pete had been replaced had been the worst, threats flooding in against Ringo, who did nothing but brush it off with a tight smile.

Sometimes, they went as far as throwing things at Ringo's drum kit, and at Ringo himself. They've yet to hit him, thankfully, but the deafening crash of a beer bottle shattering next to him occasionally threw the drummer of his rhythm, much to the amusement of the Pete Best fanatics. 

Tonight, a particularly drunk group of 'fans' manages to catch both George and Ringo's attention as they hurl insults at the drummer. George feels their song's tempo pick up slightly as Ringo's playing grows a little more rushed, though Paul and John both keep up with ease. He sees the pair exchange an uneasy glance between them as they share their mic, and George assumes they've noticed the drunkards as well. 

The set finishes without any other complications, and they quickly pack their instruments. George can see Ringo's eyes flick over to the group, a dark gleam in them. _Don't do anything stupid, Starkey,_ he can't help but think.

Paul and John finish packing first, and head to the bar for a beer or two before they leave. George deliberately slows down his packing to keep an eye on Ringo, who's eyes are still fixed on the group. The drummer finally finishes putting away his kit, and sends George a quick nod to the backdoor, then to his bags. 

George nods in return, thankful that Ringo isn't planning on starting any fights, and turns his attention back to his own guitar as he zips it into its case. 

A loud conversation starts ahead of him, and he looks up to see the group of drunk guys heading through the same the back door that Ringo just went through.

“Shit,” He mumbles under his breath, quickly setting down his guitar and chasing after them.

He hears the yelling before he fully rounds the corner, and his heart speeds up.

“Now, let's just take it easy, lads,” Ringo's voice cuts in, calm and somewhat wary. _Ever the peacekeeper, huh, Richie?_

About four guys, all of them much older than George, corner Ringo in a back hall of the club. Ringo's expression, however friendly, his undermined by the anger in his blue eyes. George hides around the corner, choosing only to intervene if things escalate.

One of the guys steps closer and mutters something to Ringo, and though George can't hear the words, he gets the general tone as Ringo's peaceful facade drops and his expression turns grim. The shift reminds George of the Ringo that him and the other Beatles had found somewhat intimidating back before they had actually gotten to know him.

One of the guys raises a fist, and George sees Ringo flinch back. It's then that George remembers that Ringo isn't really the tough guy with the gray streak in his hair that they thought he was, but the bright blue-eyed twenty-two-year-old with a heart of gold that they've come to call one of their own.

“Hey, sod off, ya gits!” George rounds around the corner before he really thinks through what he's doing. Ringo's eyes flicker with surprise, but George can see the relief in them as well.

The guys whip around, fists raised, but they just laugh as their gazes land on George, who squares his shoulders and stands as tall as possible.

“Fuck off, Harrison,” One of them snarls, and George winces at the heavy stench of alcohol that wafts off them.

“If you've got a problem with Ringo here, you've got a problem with me,” He says in reply, narrowing his eyes at them.

One of them scoffs, and turns to his mates. The other three nod at him, and George barely has time to blink before he's on the ground, clutching at his cheek. Pain blooms across his face like a flower, the burning intensifying as he winces.

“Bring back Best and we won't have a problem, Harrison.” One of them says, eerily even-toned, a smirk in place on his face.

The group walks past George and back into the club, leaving both him and Ringo in silent shock.

“Shit, George, lad, you alright?” Ringo quickly moves to help him up, his eyes wide in worry.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.” George says as he blinks away the haziness that has settled over his vision. There is a strange pulsing in his cheek, but he shoves the stinging pain to the back of his mind as he accepts Ringo's offered hand, pulling himself up.

“Christ, where's the loo? We need to get you cleaned up.” Ringo's voice is shaky yet firm as they walk down the hall towards the small backstage washroom.

It's small, but not uncomfortably so. Ringo quickly makes himself busy wetting a paper towel. George turns to the mirror, wincing as he catches sight of himself. Blood drips down his cheek from a cut above his brow, his eye already swelling shut.

“'ere, look at me,” Ringo presses a wet paper towel to the cut, his blue eyes gentle.

“You didn't have to do that, you know,” Ringo says softly, and George looks at him quizzically.

“Do what?” He asks, and Ringo raises a brow.

“Step in, take the punch for me, like.” Ringo sets the bloody towel down. “I could've handled it.”

“Yeah, alright, lad,” George almost laughs. “They would've beat within an inch of your life, Rich. Besides, I'm not some bird, I can handle myself.” 

He swats at the drummer's hand as he moves to dab at George's face again, turning to the door.

“Well, thank you, George.” Ringo says, and the sincerity in his tone makes George freeze.

“Yeah, well, don't make a habit of these fights. I won't always be there to be your knight in shining armor.” He says, and Ringo chuckles.

Their eyes meet, and George knows that something has changed between them. No longer just co-workers, but friends. 

_I've got your back if you've got mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that concludes the first part! comments and kudos are very much appreciated!
> 
> as always, feel free to send requests or just come chat with me over on tumblr, @ eveningmercury


	2. paul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: some implications on non-con, though it is never fully realized, descriptions of attempted rape, some minor violence
> 
> this is a work of fiction, and these events never took place in real life
> 
> anyway,, here's the chapter :)

It's late, and George just wants to go home.

He wanders down the deserted streets, slowly but surely making his way back to his house. He was going to catch a ride with Paul, but the boy in question had decided to leave the club early without telling the rest of them, so George was left walking the couple of blocks back to his place.

His ears pick up muffled sounds coming from a nearby alley, and his nose wrinkles as he speeds by. Unfortunately, his curiosity gets the better of him, and his eyes flicker down the dimly lit alley as he passes. He immediately averts his gaze as he sees a couple clearly engaged in some _personal matters_ , but something makes him slow his step to a stop as his blood runs cold.

He slowly turns to look back down the alley, and his heart skips a beat.

He'd recognize those soft hazel eyes, that slender frame, that teddy-boy haircut, anywhere.

The look in Paul's eyes would stay seared into George's mind for years to come ( _many years later, he sees the same look in Paul's eyes as John tells them he's leaving, seconds before the bassist breaks down into sobs that don't stop until long into the night._ ) His gaze, usually full of mirth and youthfulness, is trained on the wall opposing him, a terrifying hollowness in them. The resignation, the complete acceptance of his situation, almost as though he knew it would happen one day, sends a chill down George's spine.

A drop of blood traces down Paul's cheek, and in the reflection of the streetlamps, George can see a dark red liquid staining Paul's hair.

Some sort of fabric is stuffed in Paul's mouth, cutting off any sort of cries for help that the boy could have muttered. A similar, almost rope like fabric, binds Paul's wrists behind his back, and George can see Paul struggling to pull them free.

One of the man's hands shoves Paul down, onto his knees, and George's heart leaps into his throat. He knows he should move, intervene, do _something_ , but his feet stay glued to the pavement, his body frozen as the horrific scene unfolds before him.

Paul's eyes widen in terror as he realizes what is about to happen, the man's free hand moving to the zipper of his jeans. Paul throws himself to the side, but the man's grip on his hair is unrelenting, and Paul's eyes scrunch in pain.

The man's other hand pulls back from his zipper before slapping Paul hard across the face, the sound echoing in the dead silence of the night. The sound breaks George from his state of shock, and he surges forward, his heart beating heavily in his chest.

“Hey!” George's blood boils as Paul flinches at the shout. The man whips around to face him, his grip on Paul's hair loosening enough for the Beatle to through himself out of his grasp. With his hands still bound, Paul falls hard to the ground, unable to break his fall.

“Damn it.” George hears the man mutter, before he reaches to grab Paul by his hair again, yanking the bassist back up to his knees. A cry tears itself from Paul's throat, scraping passed the muffle, and George's stomach flips.

“What'd'ya want?” The man asks, his grip still unrelenting in Paul's hair. “Wanna join in the fun? He's a pretty one, ain't he?” The man says with a chuckle, and the sound grates in George's ears like nails on a chalkboard. A sickening sense of loathing settles in his mind, and his fingers curl into fists, his nails digging into his palms.

“Let him go.” His voice shakes, and George curses himself. He tries to make eye contact with Paul, but the other boy keeps his eyes trained on the ground, a blank mask covering his expression.

The man opens his mouth to say something else, but George runs and tackles him to the ground. They hit hard, and George feels a swell of pride when the man groans in pain. He quickly stumbles to his feet, making his way between Paul and the man, his stance guarded. The man looks up at him, a burning rage in his eyes, and George feels almost high on adrenaline.

“Take him, whatever, just leave me alone,” The man says, his voice low as he wipes gravel from the side of his face.

George watches him suspiciously for a second, but the man does nothing but watch them warily, so turns and helps Paul to his feet. The pair make their way out of the alley in silence, the only sound being that of Paul's shaky breaths.

_He's a pretty one, ain't he?_

The words echo in the back of George's mind, and he can't help the swell of guilt that washes over him as he glances to the boy beside him. Paul's more soft features were so often the topic of insults among the group, and while George wasn't one to participate in the jokes, he, more often than not, would join in laughing at Paul's expense. The bassist had never really seemed to mind though, always rebuking John's antics with quips of his own. Plus, after a long gig, Paul was almost always found at the bar, batting his long eyelashes and pouting his lips to get with a bird, earning him his place as the flirt of the group.

George had never even considered that Paul's more feminine features could ever lead to something like this.

“Paul?” He keeps his voice soft, watching with worried eyes as Paul's chest heaves uneven breaths. “Are you okay?”

Paul nods, only slightly, though his eyes remain downcast.

They don't talk for the rest of the night, but George walks Paul home, their footsteps the only sounds in the dark streets. George can't help glancing every so often at the boy next to him. The dim glow of the streetlamps casts shadows across his face, giving him a haunting, yet young, look. His eyelashes, the ones that were so often the subject of insults, glisten with tears, and George looks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is a part two to this, hopefully coming soon :)
> 
> comments and kudos are much appreciated
> 
> if you have any requests or simply just want to chat, hmu on my tumblr @ eveningmercury


End file.
